The Heavy Truth
by Illegitimi
Summary: Gouta has some how managed to cheat death. His re-awakening and the truths that he has to face. Gouta and Mitsu.
1. Chapter 1

_**Samurai Gun **_and all characters belong to Kazuhiro. I own nothing but maybe an OC here and there...

**A/N:** At the end.

**The Heavy Truth**

Chapter One

_The truth is heavy,_

_therefore few care to carry it._

It was like what he had been forced to do as a small child: swim to the surface while wearing lead weights tied around his ankles. Trying with all your might to reach the surface and all the while you are being slowly but steadily pulled back by some unseen undercurrent. The worst part about it all was that your goal was almost within your grasp. Your vision was hazy but light could still be discerned. Your hearing was muted but you could hear the crashing of the waves against the rocks and the screaming of the gulls above you. As your breath left your body in small or even large bubbles you could see them float away and break the surface not too far from your reach. It always seemed unattainable, yet he knew that if he didn't reach the surface then he would die. Plain and simple.

Death always seemed to be waiting for him. In one form or another Death was always waiting patiently there at the end. He wasn't friendly with Death, per say. Neither was he one of the people that refused to even think about it. Death was just...Death. He likened Death to be like a sport's spectator. A figure blended in with the crowd and not always showing which side he was rooting for. That amused him. It also enraged him. That was because this was one of those times. He didn't know if Death was on his side or not. With that thought burning in his heart he gave one, final push to the surface. With blinding white pain and gasping much needed air he found himself once again cheating Death.

But instead of breaking the surface to light, he broke it only to find himself in darkness. Pitch black darkness. But what he lacked in sight he more then made up for in sound. He could hear a high, crackling, keening. It seemed to permeate the air around him, but underneath it all he also heard a soft, lulling sound. It was _that_ sound that he tried to concentrate on. He found that when he stopped screaming he could hear it quite clearly. Soft hands held him gently down by the shoulders, and would even stray here or there to rub comfortingly across his arms or shoulders. His breath came in a harsh, rapid staccato, and almost as if he had been running a marathon. But even a marathon had never left him feeing so much pain, or so helpless. He found that he couldn't move. Not even one muscle. His body was on fire and seemingly boneless. All he could do was lay there helplessly as every molecule in his body was pretending that it was its own, miniature, super nova. Every nerve pulsed in fury, and it sent blinding white flashes of pain straight to his brain. The pain was so great that at first he thought that he would vomit. The muscles in his abdomen clenched so tightly and with such force that he didn't think that he would ever be able to loosen them. He could even feel his body start to spasm. The fire was spreading uncontrollably within as well as without. His body was slick with a sweat that was anything but cooling. If anything it just helped to add fuel to the conflagration.

It was when he thought that at any moment that if he could only just burst into flames in order to end the pain once and for all that cool hands helped to raise his head high enough so a glass of liquid could be brought to his mouth. He greedily gulped whatever was in it. At this point he just didn't care. He drank so voraciously that he couldn't swallow it fast enough, and so a good deal of it passed back out of his mouth and down his chin. He gasped and sputtered. Once again a hand came out and with a cold cloth gently and tenderly wiped his mouth. His head was laid back down and water could be heard sloshing in a basin next to him. It was with great relief that he found the cloth once again back on his body. It moved over his face and neck as a mother would when bathing her new born infant. The touch was a blessed and welcoming relief. There must have been something in the ministrations that slowly but steadily caused his body to relax, and even drop a few degrees in temperature. His could feel his jaw become slack and his muscles start to loosen. He was once again back in the ocean as a child, and this time he was going to let the cool depth take him down and draw him in to their dark, mysterious depths.

When he woke again he felt more cognizant then he had previously. He was still blind (he realized that his one good eye was also covered for some reason) and still weak, but his body was now not trying to turn him into a human bonfire. In fact, there were places on him that were cool and clammy. He even gave a shudder or two in revulsion. Especially when he realized that one of the places was at his groin. He had soiled himself. But he had neither the strength of body nor mind to do anything about it. Instead he chose to gather his thoughts and try to figure out his surroundings.

Wherever he was the building or house was deathly quiet. He heard only the normal sounds of a house's foundation as it creaked and groaned in time to the swelling and shrinking of the wood and its foundation. If he _really_ concentrated he could maybe hear birds in the far off distance, but what type they were was beyond his comprehension or even care at the moment. But what he_ could _clearly comprehend was that he heard _nothing_ that gave away another person's presence. He heard neither foot steps nor voices. He felt as if he was entombed alive, and all alone.

He could though catch a glimpse of a perfume. It was slight, it was subtle, and it was something that should have been familiar to him for some reason. But he was hard pressed to figure out from where let alone from whom. The smell wasn't always present. It was something so light that the eddy's of air currents moved it about, and it would come and go from his senses. Since he had nothing better to do at the moment he would try and discern the scent. After some thought he realized that it wasn't perfume but more of the body odor itself. And it was _definatly_ a woman. It must have been the woman that had been there when he had first woken up. But whomever she was or even wherever she was her scent still lingered in the air around him. It reminded him of the fragile magnolia blossoms that he had once seen on his travels. The delicate, pink petals that opened up at the first sign of spring. They were almost ethereal in not so much their look as much as their composition. Just a slight touch and the petals would one by one fall to the ground and lay scattered at your feet. A poignantly sad testament to a beauty that once was.

His musings were broken as he heard soft steps come down a corridor, and in his direction. He loosened his muscles and tried his best to feign sleep Whomever she was(and now he was certain that it was a woman, and_ the_ woman of his recent contemplations in fact) quietly slide the door open and then just as quietly shut it behind her. She walked with a lightness of foot that sent a 'ping' some where in the back of his brain. It spoke of training. It spoke of a possible Samurai Gun.

Whatever she was carrying she set down on a table or bench by his bedside and made herself comfortable. He tensed when he felt the swoosh of air as her hand came towards him. If he had more strength he would have long before this had her in his grasp. But since he had none he was forced to lay there helplessly.

He felt the back of her hand press itself against his forehead as if to test for fever. Finding none, or not enough to bring about worry she sighed gratefully. He could almost _hear_ her smile. Then her cool and delicate hands moved the sheet covering him and ran over his torso. She slowly and cautiously pulled off bandages. With some form of medical training she must have been looking at his various wounds. She then went about cleaning and re-dressing them. But before she covered him back up she methodically cleaned and dried him off. Somehow she even managed to change the sheets with him still laying supine in the bed. Small grunts and groans could be heard as she diligently went about her task. Finally she sat back and gave a prideful huff of accomplishment. As she finally pulled the fresh sheet over him he mustered all his energy for a few, feeble words.

"Who...._are_....you?" His voice was scratchy and hoarse from misuse.

He could feel the woman stiffen next to him. He could feel her sit back sharply and draw her hands back towards herself. But she uttered not a word. She was silent before him. Once again he tried for an answer, and this time it took all his waning energy just to utter the single word.

"_Who_...?"

Two, slim fingers were gently placed over his mouth, and effectively silencing him. He sighed in resignation. He was about to make another try at it when he found his head being raised and a glass once again being brought to his lips. Again he drank deeply, but not as greedily. It was water but with a slight medicinal after-taste. It must have been what had sent him into slumber the first time that he encountered her because he could once again feel his muscles relaxing and his mind becoming hazy. He could feel his lips moving but no sound coming out as he tried to verbally communicate.

She laid his head back down and with two thumbs wiped at the corners of his mouth. Tucking his sheets in loosely but securely he could hear her gather up her things as she made her preparations to leave him just as the fog of sleep started to over-come him once again. This time, and like the time before he never heard her leave.

Time soon had no meaning. He would find that he would sleep until it was time for her to return. He was always wide awake before she came. Either she just happened to be lucky at her visits in that he was awake, or she knew_ exactly _how long he would be asleep, and giving him time to shake the sleep away she would arrive only after she knew that he was more oriented. The first spoke of sheer luck, the second spoke of sheer intelligence. That meant that she would have known _exactly_ when the drug would have dissipated in his system and made him more aware. The question now was why?

Why would she want him awake during her visits? It would have been much easier to have him comatose during her ministrations. Her job would have been easier in many respects. She could have perused and cleaned his wounds without any disturbances. And if her job was something else? Then he could have been dispatched without any mess or fuss on her part.

Each time she came and went was the same as the time before. She would check, clean, and then medicate him. Each time he would ask the same question: Who are you? And each time he received silence and a finger to his lips. It became almost rote. Their relationship fell into a comfortable but never boring pattern. And each time she visited he felt just a smidgen stronger. He certainly wasn't back to his fighting strength, as that would be a long time coming, but he did feel that he was farther and farther away from Death's door step. It also afforded him a few more pieces of her puzzle each time that she visited.

He found early on that she liked to hum while she worked. She never sang any words, but a light, airy tune would occasionally drop from her lips. He also caught her humming purposefully in order _not_ to speak. Once when she poked at a wound on his shoulder and he hissed painfully in response she hummed deep in her chest, as if to stave off the contrite apologetic words that almost came unbidden. For some reason that made him think that she had a certain amount of good breeding.

Once, and it was only once, but it played in his mind over and over while he waited for her she had laughed. It was an breathy and airy laugh that was all at once both girlish as well as womanly. The sweet sound stuck in his brain and just wouldn't leave. It was now buried there along side her scent and nothing but the cold hand of Death could ever dislodge it. He even doubted that though as he planned to take both those memories with him to the next life if possible.

There were times though that he would become annoyed at not only his inability to move around as freely as he would like due to his bone deep weakness, but her staunch refusal to speak. How many days it had been he wasn't sure. He didn't even know if it was light or dark out as her visits seemed to be strictly regimented. He would sometimes curse, and not only at himself but her as well. He would heap course, rough timbered abuse upon both of them. But even during his worst times she was as constant and gentle as ever. Her movements never betrayed anything but her seeming desire to get him healed and to take care of his bodily functions.

The indignity of having someone take care of his bodily waste was quickly replacing his annoyance at his body's slow healing process as his number one gripe. She never treated him as a child or geriatric, but that was exactly what he felt like. He felt like a babe in swaddling clothes or an old man in a retirement home. Here he was, the perfect culmination of the most brutal training almost ever known. A man that was trained to seek and destroy with deadly accuracy and intent, and he was now reduced to back to infancy or forced forward towards old age. He was a lone wolf that hunted and preyed almost at his own discretion. Nothing deterred him. Nothing scared him. There was almost nothing he couldn't do. Except now. Now? Now he couldn't do _anything_ by himself. He couldn't piss, shit, or even take a fucking drink of water without help. He was starting to think that maybe he should be taken out back and shot, or just thrown off the highest cliff into the ocean. Anything. Anything to end this never ending feeling of helplessness.

Just as he was getting himself so worked up that his body started to shake from the suppressed anger her hands moved down his legs and started to massage his feet. Her soft fingers were nimble and yet firm. They massaged and pressed in on vital pressure points. He could feel the tension as well as the anger swiftly leave him. He _really_ started to feel relaxed when she took each of his toes and manipulated them in small circles. Who knew that having your toes massaged would be such a wonderful gift? He almost..._smiled_. Instead, he drifted off into a light, non-medicinal, massage-induced sleep. He woke just as she was once again preparing to leave and pulling the light sheet over him. With a burst of energy that he thought that he never had he grabbed her arm.

"_Wait_."

He felt her stiffen, but not pull away. If anything she sat back and let him keep his hold on her. It wasn't tight but neither was it loose. It was just...comfortable. Her skin was soft and smooth, and the arm was delicate but with a sense of strength running underneath it.

"My eye, I want to see. Take off the _right _eye patch..." He had been blind for too long (and in more ways then one, he thought to himself ironically).

He could feel her hand curl as if in indecision, but then he heard her let out a 'whoosh' of air as if she had come to a hard decision. She patted his arm with her free hand. He let go and waited patiently for her to start the process of his unveiling. With careful and slow movements she unwrapped the bandage from around his head and in doing so she unwittingly uncovered both his eyes. Somehow though she knew to cover just his right eye as his left was long gone. She covered it so that he wouldn't be blinded by the sudden light. When enough time had passed she slowly raised her hand from the eye inch by inch. Before taking it away completely she took a damp cloth and wiped away any grime that may have accumulated or built up during its captivity under the gauze.

He blinked his eye rapidly and squinted at the harsh sunlight coming through somewhere behind him. He looked up and all he saw at first was a hazy outline. But as he continually blinked his eye sight slowly came into focus. He was even able to shakily bring a hand up and wipe it. When he opened his eye again his jaw almost dropped to his chest at who was sitting next to him.

He had _never_ forgotten her. She had _always_ been in the back of his head like a tantalizing whisper. The last piece of her puzzle slide smoothly into place.

"_Gouta_," she said softly.

It _was_ her...

**End A/N:** Well, there it is. The first chapter/Intro for the first Samurai Gun fic. I know that Gouta dies in the anime but I loved him so much (and I'm going to play on the idea that so did _she_) that I just had to resurrect him and have him cheat death. I love playing the Angel of Mercy and Cupid all at the same time...


	2. Chapter 2

_**Samurai Gun **_and all characters belong to Kazuhiro. I own nothing but maybe an OC here and there...

**A/N: **Many thanks to **Wheelwright** and **SevenSamCham** for their wonderful reviews. You girls make writing a pleasure!

Chapter Two

He struggled to rise, and this time when she placed her hands on his shoulders to try and contain him he fought her off with slightly more vigor then previously. He would not yield to her, but each time that he moved he pulled at some wound causing him to hiss and curse in pain and frustration. He eventually lay back in resignation. He closed his eye and sighed a breath filled with pain, weariness, confusion, and even a little happiness.

"_Mitsu_..."

He heard that light chuckle, but this time on hearing it he could also open his eye to see her. She had a small, sweet, but worried smile on her face, and shaking her head she moved quickly to reposition him into a more comfortable position. Like a mother hen she straightened him out carefully, and after tucking in his sheet she raised his head slightly so that he could have his head some what elevated. He looked up at her and his eyes seemed to drink her in like a parched man after crossing a wide, dangerous desert and finding a flowering, flourishing oasis at his journey's end.

But was he at the end? He certainly didn't think so.

"How?"

His voice was still rough, but his voice had always had a deep, dark timbre to it. His voice was something that she had always kept tightly locked away with her memories of him. Before she had ever even seen him it was his voice that she had first heard all those years ago...

Sitting back and placing her hands delicately on her thighs she looked him over. His body even while incapacitated was still fit and trim. His skin tone was pale and sickly, but underneath all the raw wounds and recent abuse there still held vestigial glimpses of a man well seasoned and weathered from his training and profession. Gouta's body was angular but muscular, and old scars and callouses were rampant across his body. His face... His face was lean and slightly weathered, but his one, brown eye though jaded still held a softness to it that must have come from somewhere deep inside the man himself, and no matter what he had seen or done it could never be erased. He was watching her intently, and that hawk-like gaze never left her face even for a minute.

She couldn't help but shiver and blush under such scrutiny.

"Mitsu..." he said with a slight tone of impatience and world-weariness, but even that was laced with his inherent gentleness.

Mitsu reached out tentatively and placed a hand over his, and when he curled a few fingers around her hand she became bolder and grasped his with a steady pressure. She looked down at their joined hands and for the first time in a long while she felt a deep contentment and satisfaction.

"Gouta, _please_...rest. We can talk later, but for now you just need to get your strength up. Later we can-"

His hand on hers tightened. "No, _now _Mitsu. I need to know if anyone is going to be coming for me here." His body tensed up at realizing who was now taking care of him. Mitsu worked, as he once did, for the Ukishima Shrine Council, and unless he was mistaken she would not turn against them as he did. But he also didn't think that she would turn him in either. They were both in a perilous position.

Mitsu looked at him with sudden understanding and her eyes became wide. "No Gouta._ No one_ is going to come for you here. No one knows about this place but me. Not even the Ukishima Shrine knows about this place."

Gouta's eye narrowed in suspicion. "How is that? They seem to know about most everything..."

"This is an old, almost abandoned Spring House that belonged to my family. I come here once or twice a year to clean and maintain it." She looked away with a sad, wistful look on her face. "I just can't seem to part with it. It was my father's favorite place before my mother died..."

"You can't be so sure Mitsu. If they can't find my body to confirm my death then they will assume that I am still alive, and send others after me. Another assault team will be ordered to finish the job." He didn't want her involved. He didn't want her caught in the cross-fire. He wouldn't allow her to be placed in such a position.

Her light brown eyes looked back at him and there was a small smirk starting to form on her lips. "No Gouta, _no one_ knows about this place. The deed is still in my mother's name and I have never had even servants here. It is _very_ secluded and _very_ hard to reach."

She looked down at him with such a smug look that he couldn't help but smile slightly. "Oh? Then if this is such a paragon of a hideaway how _the hell_ did you get _me_ here?" He knew that carrying an unconscious body wasn't easy. He might not have been an overly large or burly man like Number Ten, but he wasn't a light weight either. It couldn't have been easy for such a small woman like herself.

"It wasn't easy, _but I did it_. I might not be a Samurai Gun but I _can_ pull my own weight, and that of a Samurai Gun too if need be," she said firmly. Suddenly she flushed and she looked contritely guilty. "You were so close to death Gouta," she said softly. "But I _had_ to get you out of there. The place was _crawling_ with Samurai Gun, but it was also a mass of confusion. I patched you up as best I could and in the confusion I dragged you away." Suddenly she smiled brightly and gave a small, peal of girlish laughter. "I don' know _how_ I did it really, but I just knew that I_ had_ to do it. So I _did_."

He smiled indulgently. "Of course. How rude of me to look a gift horse in the mouth. But, be that as it may..." Even as his body throbbed slightly in pain he couldn't help but be mesmerized by her response. She blushed but kept her gaze level with his..

"Be that as it may you _still_ need to get some sleep," she said primly and firmly. When he looked like he was going to protest she glared down at him. Her glare though only caused him to grimace and cough a bit with the exertion. "We can talk more when you wake up or when you feel better. Just _not_ right now." She made some small, fussing gestures with his bedding but stopped when he placed a hand on her forearm.

"Mitsu wait, _I'm half starved_," Gouta said suddenly, and he found that he was. Ravenous, in fact. He had no idea how long it had been since he had last had anything really substantial to eat. Just thinking about food made his stomach growl and rumble. It was like a clap of thunder in the silent room. He smiled and patted her hand. "_Really_ starved, Mitsu."

Mitsu nodded and sighed. "Alright. I'll be right back." She got up and quickly left to get him something to eat. "But don't you move a muscle," she said with a parting glare.

After she left Gouta tried to situate himself a bit better in order to see his surroundings for the first time while he waited for her to return. He was in a room that was very sparsely furnished. Beside the futon that he was laying on there wasn't too much else. A couple of trunks in the corner had some clothing laid on top of them, but after that there really wasn't much else. The room was clean but obviously unused. Except for his bed and the trunks that was about it. Until he looked directly to his right and saw another futon laid out, and it was obviously being used as the owner hadn't made it yet today.

Mitsu's.

Mitsu must have been sleeping in the room with him in order to aid with her care of him. He couldn't help but stare at it. A little more then an arm's length away from him she had been sleeping next to him and keeping a constant vigil. For some reason that made him feel...safe. He really felt safe when he spied the silver barrel of a gun poking out from underneath her pillow. He smiled. He even gave a small chuckle. Luckily it wasn't pointed _at_ him...

His attention wandered from his neighbor's sleeping arraignments when he heard her coming back. Mitsu came in bearing a tray with a bowl and cup, and gracefully siting down next to him placed it besides the two of them. She leaned behind her and grabbed one of her own pillows and raising his head and shoulders slightly she placed it behind him for added height and comfort. After fiddling around a bit until she was satisfied with his position she turned, and keeping one hand behind his neck she reached for the bowl.

Gouta was almost drooling at the prospect of solid food. He could smell the aroma coming from the bowl. It was tantalizing. It almost made his eye water at the prospect, but when his lips hit the rim and he looked down into the bowl he almost snorted in disappointment. It was nothing more then broth. There was nothing solid about it. He took a quick, small sip and let the liquid slide down into his empty stomach. It must have been a while since he last ate because his stomach clenched at the foreign invader, and it almost felt like he was going to heave it all back out. Luckily Mitsu was prepared and she quickly took the bowl away, and placed a towel on his chest just in case he decided to unswallow. After a few moments the queasy sensation passed and he felt almost normal again. Almost.

He looked up at her and gave a dry laugh. "Look at me....I can barely sit up let alone eat...How pathetic..." His hand shook as he tried to help hold the bowl to his mouth.

"Don't say that Gouta. You've made remarkable progress." Mitsu gave him a stern but understanding look. "You have no idea how close to death you came..."

"Hn. How close?"

"_Very_ close." She frowned and seemed as if she didn't want to talk about it.

He was about to ask for a more in depth explanation but she moved again in order to afford him another sip. When he seemed about to gulp it down greedily she pulled the bowl away. "Not so fast. You'll get sick, and if you get sick then you'll undue all the hard work that _we've_ done to get you this far. And then I'll be_ pissed_..."

Gouta nodded and took small, hesitant sips. When he felt that he had had enough he sighed in satisfaction, and lay gratefully back down as she once again withdrew the broth. She wiped his mouth and asked if he wanted some water to wash it down with. When he nodded she proceeded to once again prop him up so he could drink. The water too was rationed out, but she made sure to give him enough so that he could slake his thirst. When he seemed to have drank his fill she moved the tray and it's occupants off to the side.

As he lay back down he gave a large yawn, and his eye started to drift down slightly in response to his exertions and the gratification that only came with a full stomach. His body was feeling a satisfaction that it had been long denied. His stomach was full and his body now was ready to continue with the healing property of sleep. But not yet, just a bit more...

"Mitsu...what about... _you._..?"

"What _about_ me, Gouta?" She was tucking him in and settling him down in preparation for sleep. Her gentle hands and low voice were aiding in the soothing process, and he was hard pressed to stay awake.

"_Why_..." But it was all he could get out before slumber over-took him.

"Because I owe you my life," she said softly, and brushing some of the nonexistent soup away from his mouth. It was a tender and almost motherly gesture..

Gouta wasn't awake to hear her response, but she didn't care. All she cared about was the fact that he was _alive_. He shouldn't be, but he was, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

When he woke again it was dark, but it must have been early in the evening because there was still enough light left to see clearly by. He stretched first his fingers and then his hands. They were stiff but all was in working order. He then went and tried to lift his arms. It hurt like Hell but he _could_ perform the simple function. He might not have been able to lift them high up or for very long, but he could still move them. With tentative fingers he traced his body in order to get better acquainted with his situation. He could feel the thick wrappings covering his chest from clavicle to below his sternum. He had another wrapping around his abdomen just a bit lower, but it didn't seem as sturdy. Just by slightly moving his legs he could tell that there were only small, light bandages covering a thigh and one calf. Nothing major. It seemed that what ever had happened his upper torso had caught the brunt of it.

Being so long on his back was starting to become uncomfortable, so he gingerly tried to move over onto his side. He hissed at the pain and exhaustion that it caused, but he didn't let it deter him. With a few heaves he hauled his carcass over, and with such force that he had to stop himself with a quickly thrown out arm. A loud 'ooph' was his reward for not face planting. His heart was pounding and his head was feeling light, but he gritted his teeth and rode through the sensations. He used a few breathing techniques that he knew in order to slow down his rapid breathing. He could feel the sweat start to form on his fore head and upper lip, and once again he was brought to the sudden realization how helpless he was. He gave a silent snarl in response. It froze on his face, and then dropped slowly when he realized what he was now facing.

Mitsu, and she was sound asleep on the futon next to him. She was on her side and facing him. He face was lax and small, funny little whiffles escaped her mouth every time she exhaled. His frustrated snarl was replaced with a wry smile. With her brown hair down and her body curled slightly inward while she slept she looked...adorable. She looked like an innocent, little girl.

An innocent, little girl with one hand resting on the butt of a very deadly gun. Even in her sleep she was still being as vigilant as possible. Gouta couldn't help but find that amusing. He had momentarily forgotten what she did. She wasn't a Samurai Gun and she didn't do field work, but she did design and help manufacture the guns and equipment that they used. She was the top in her field, and he had no doubt that she knew perfectly well how to use everything that she helped to create. She might look sweet and angelic, but she certainly had an edge to her. A nasty, dangerous edge. An edge that he could understand and certainly appreciate.

He moved himself to a more comfortable position even though the pain was still there and throbbing almost non-stop. Even through the pain he couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief; it felt _good_ to not be flat on his back. It gave his back as well as side muscles a reprieve from his inactivity. It made him feel like he was making progress some how. Propping himself as best he could on his side without disturbing too much he allowed himself a brief moment to contemplate what had happened and what he needed to do.

He honestly didn't know if he was in the fire or in the frying pan. It was frustrating to say the least. The one thing that he did know was that this was far from over. He had no idea how much time had passed but he knew that most probably by now the Ukishima Shrine Council and the other Samurai Gun's were scouring the conflagration site for his body. Whether they thought that they could find one or not was another thing. He seriously doubted that they would just let it go. He had been too much of a liability, and especially after everything that had happened. The major problem being was that too many people knew the truth, and the ones that didn't know the truth knew a lie that was just as dangerous. What _really_ upset him was the fact that his own brothers in arms, his own fellow Samurai Gun didn't know what was the truth. Either way he wasn't going to just let it all pass into an obscure history. He was going to see this all through to the end one way or another.

Except for Ichimatsu. _He_ knew the truth because Gouta had heard him tell that young woman Ohana whom he had captured as bait what had _really_ happened. But was Ichimatsu even alive? And Setukichi, he had been there as well but with that monstrous, metal behemoth. Was he alive as well? The last few moments had been a hazy, fiery blur. He almost couldn't put the pieces together for some reason. The last moments that he could remember were filled with smoke, gunfire, and screaming accusations. He hoped that Ichimatsu wasn't dead. Even Setukichi for that matter. He didn't exactly call them friends but they certainly had enough shared history together to make them brothers. A history that was cold, lonely, and brutal.

Gouta rubbed his hand over his face in frustration, and when his fingers went up to massage his scalp he noticed that he was missing most of his hair. He ran his hands tentatively over his scalp. For many years he had worn his hair short but shaggy, but in the past few years he had grown it out and then shaved the crown in the latest samurai fashion. Now however his long hair was cut way back and over the once-bald area he could feel a velvet stubble. How had that happened? Had Mitsu cut it for some reason? Scratching at his cheek he could also feel a good amount of beard stubble covering his face. He was a very meticulous man with his appearance so he knew that the growth of beard had to account for the time spent here so far with Mitsu.

Laying on his side and not feeling too bad gave him the encouragement that he needed for going one step farther and trying to sit up. With a muffled moan and gritting his teeth hard enough that he was surprised that he didn't break a few he slowly and carefully hauled himself into a semi-sitting position. Sweat was breaking out on his brow and he was forced to wipe his hands across his eyes to take away some of the moisture gathering there. This was _disgusting_. He had endured much worse as a child, and here he was a grown man and barely able to keep himself upright. It was all so _frustrating_...He blew air out slowly and closed his eye in concentration. One of the many things that they had taught him (besides killing) was how to control his body from reacting to outside as well as internal stimulus. He could block out the pain. He could. _He would_. He was in control, wasn't he? He would forcibly tap down the blinding pain and the almost over-whelming weakness that was pain's constant companion. A roiling sensation was starting to build in his gut at the supreme effort that it was taking him.

"Gouta! Don't be a fool!"

Mitsu was suddenly at his side and with an arm around his shoulders she was trying to settle him back down. That wasn't what he wanted. He cursed and tried to shoulder her off of him and away, but he couldn't even gather that much strength to accomplish such a simple goal. He slumped to the side and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He could hear as well as feel her admonishments to him. His eyes drifted closed at the welcoming warmth and support.

"_Damn you_ Gouta! Some of your wounds have re-opened..." Mitsu said in frustration. She almost forcefully shoved him back supine upon the bed and started to look at his bindings. The bandaging cover his chest showed a tell-tale spot of blood, and it was quickly becoming larger.

She looked down at him with a glint in her eye. "Don't you _dare _move a muscle Gouta, and I _mean_ it!" She rushed over to one of the chests and opening it with a slam she snatched and grabbed at its contents. Coming back to the bed with her arms full of fresh bandages and a mumbling curse at her uncooperative patient she started to bang things down in front of her, and keeping up with her diatribe the entire time that she was administering to him.

"I swear...if this isn't the thanks that I get for risking my life and helping out an ingrate..._Settle_ _down_, Gouta," she said with a glare and a slightly hysterical gleam in her eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop pushing yourself? You aren't even close to being even partially healed!" In her fury and worry she ripped off some of the old bandage covering his chest and with such force that her patient's eye widened slightly at the coarse contact.

"Hey, _take it easy_," he said with a gasp. She seemed to forget that he was injured.

"I swear Gouta, you pull another stunt like that and I'll tie you down in this bed. I will! Don't test me," she said with a gimlet stare.

"All I wanted to do was sit up, what's the harm in that? You're making too big a deal of it," he said swatting away at her hands. He also wanted to get a look at himself without the bandages blocking his view.

Mitsu smacked his roving hand in return and with a palm to her forehead she brusquely slapped him down. His brown eye widened and then narrowed in growing irritation. "I spent_ a lot_ of time patching you up, and now you've gone and ripped some sutures_. Damn it all_!"

Gouta looked as best he could at his chest, but between the slight dizziness that was starting to set in coupled with the enraged woman sitting next to him he was having a hard time trying to balance all three. He thought it best in the end (and for him mostly) to just give in and let her take total control. If anything it would calm her down and maybe ease up on her semi-rough treatment of him. While she worked he took to watching her. She was sleep disheveled and still in her sleeping yukata, and working diligently to put him back together. He saw the worried frown on her face as she tenderly touched the area around his left pectorals, and what ever she found must have pleased her as she let out a big gust of held in air and smiled grimly. He found that he too must have been holding himself expectantly as he also couldn't help but sigh in some sort of relief.

"Well! It isn't as bad as I thought. You just pulled at the sutures, but you didn't rip them. Thank goodness..."

"You had to stitch me up?" He raised a brow inquiringly. They had both been taught rudimentary medical skills, but just enough for quick and dirty work. Neither were in the job of saving lives.

"Uh-huh," she said absently as she started to wrap him back up. "It isn't too pretty, and I'm afraid that you are going to have one hell of a scar...I just did the best I could with what I had. I'm sorry Gouta..." She looked slightly ashamed at the admission.

As he sat up slightly to help aid her in wrapping the bandage around his torso he was once again pressed against her. She smelled and felt so good...

"Like I said before, I am not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I appreciate everything that you did. Maybe someday you'll tell me all about it, but for now I need to figure out on getting out of here." He needed to forget her smell and texture, and think more about important matters at hand.

"I told you Gouta, no one will find you here-"

He shook his head at her naiveté. "Mitsu, don't be stupid or careless. Neither of us can afford that."

She looked at him with a decidedly unfriendly sparkle in her eyes. "I am _not_ being stupid _nor_ careless!"

He sighed as she set him back down. Yes, she was. Incredibly stupid and unbelievably careless. If the Ukishima Shrine Council were to find out that she was harboring a fugitive then her loosing her job would be the kindest thing that they would do. Most probably they would just kill her. Like they tried to with him. The Council had a no fuss, no muss policy when it came to pretty much everything that they did. And they certainly wouldn't like the fact that she had aligned herself with _him_ of all people. He needed to get out of here and away from her. Far away, and fast.

"Mitsu, either you have to leave or I do, but we both can't be found here."

"I am _not_ leaving you! And certainly _not_ while you are in this condition. Have you lost all your senses?" She looked affronted at the idea. Mitsu sat back on her heels and glared down at him. No way was she going to leave a half-dead man to recover on his own.

Gouta started to get impatient with her. She was too smart for him to have to spell everything out as if she was a green recruit. But if he had to then he would.

"Mitsu, where do they think you are right now?" He tried to keep his voice as free from censure and with as little patronizing as possible, but it was a weak job at best.

"I left word that I had family issues to deal with, and that I would need a few weeks off." She looked smug and self righteous.

"_Family_ issues? Mitsu...you don't _have_ any family. And how were you able to deal with me and the Council all at the same time?" None of it made sense.

"I _do_ have family holdings left to me from my father, and just my _immediate _family was killed. I _do_ have other family as well, you know." She spoke slowly as if to a slow or retarded individual, and she met him glare for glare. "As to getting word to them I had to hide you for a bit first, but luckily Kurenai was near by, and I gave her the information to pass on to the Council."

"Does _Kurenai_ know about me?"

"Of course she doesn't! God's above Gouta! I keep trying to tell you that I am _not _an imbecile...I have even taken the time to plant booby traps around the grounds. _No one _can get near us without us knowing about it first," she said smugly. "I am_ very_ good at my job I'll have you know."

"I know you are Mitsu, but our lives are at stake right now. And you have to understand one, important thing: none of this is going to fly with the Council. They aren't going to buy any of that, and they certainly will start to put things together, and sooner rather then later. You need to be _smart _about these kind of things!" He closed his eye in frustration and scrubbed at his face as he tried to figure out how he was going to get out of this mess. His eye whipped open when he felt a none to gentle prod on his shoulder.

"I _am _being smart! And stop talking down to me as if I was a child! I know what I'm doing. I know that the Council will eventually figure something out, but that is going to take some time. You know how they are. They do not move quickly. The deliberate and discuss until they're blue in the face. But by the time they come to some sort of decision I'll have you on your feet and we can then-"

He cut her off acerbically. "_We_ will do _nothing_. I will_ not_ have you entangled in any of this. When _I _am feeling better_ I _will be on my way and-"

"_And nothing_! You alone cannot handle the Council. I know that and so do you. I know that you probably have some suicide mission in mind but that is neither going to work nor happen. So get it straight out of your head..."

Both Gouta and Mitsu looked at each other with heavy, burning glares. She was incensed that he would try something so stupid, and he was starting to get enraged that she would put herself in such harm's way.

And all for him. Someone that had always worked best alone. Someone that was now considered expendable, useless, and extremely dangerous to the Council. But he also had a soft spot for the ladies, and it seemed for her in particular. He just didn't want her to get into something that she wouldn't be able to pull herself out of. Hell, he didn't even think that _he _would make it to see the other side. But then of course, he had left a nice swath of bodies behind him, but it was all in the name of self preservation. He had been _forced_ to kill his brethren in order to stay alive. If they had only left him alone (or just stayed out of his way) then none of this would have ever happened.

The tension was becoming so thick that it could have been easily cut with the proverbial knife. She sat next to him with her fists clenched and her lips in a thin line. Even though he was starting to loose his anger the frustration was still there.

"Why did you cut my hair?" Gouta asked the question in order to try and alleviate some of the anger and tension.

Mitsu blinked rapidly at him as she tried to process the quick change in topic. "What?" She asked the question almost stupidly.

"My hair...why did you _cut _it?"

"I had to," she said giving him another blank look.

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "I can see that, but why?"

"Because it was in my way?"

Gouta blinked at her answer. In her way? What way? He had no head trauma. What kind of nurse _was _she? "How was _my hair_ in your way? And did you have to cut it _all _off?" He couldn't help but chuckle lowly at her premise.

Mitsu blushed and looked momentarily down at her hands before looking back up to reply. "Well, I originally only cut a little bit, but when I saw that it wasn't even I tried to even it out, but that ended up making it even _more _uneven. So I kept cutting, and cutting, and cutting...Then, before you knew it..."

Gouta shrugged. "Well, it'll grow back. I was getting sick of the hair style anyway. I'll probably go back to my shaggy cut."

"I_ liked _your hair like that anyway. You look much younger and -" She stopped suddenly at how outrageous she must sound. It certainly wasn't her place to voice such opinions.

Gouta let a wide grin sweep across his face. How interesting... "And _what_, Mitsu?"

"And _now_ it's time for you to rest some more," she said primly as she gathered the used dressing up. "Go to bed, it is almost the middle of the night and if _you _don't need any sleep maybe _I_ do." She stood to place the dirty linen in a bin by the door.

Gouta suddenly felt contritious. She _did _need her sleep. Even as sweet as she looked he could see dark circles under her eyes, and he knew that it was all because of him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he said quietly.

Mitsu looked back sharply at him and suddenly her own visage softened. "I know Gouta, I know. I didn't want any of this to happen either, but it did and here we are." She dropped the bandages in the bin and walked back, and seeing that he was already settled she once again went back to her own bed. She rested on her side and making herself comfortable she started to let her eyes drift closed.

But before she let herself be over-come by sleep she checked to make sure that her gun was tucked safely under her pillow, and within easy reach. Seeing that it was gave her the comfort that she needed to finally be able to relax and try and get some sleep. With a tired yawn she let her eyes open once more to check on her patient before yielding to the urge to rest her eyes. The last thing that she saw before finally succumbing to a bone weary sleep was Gouta laying on his side facing her, and looking at her with a wide open eye, and a small smile on his lips.

"Good night, Gouta," she said tiredly as she drifted off to sleep.

"Good night, Mitsu. Sleep tight."


End file.
